The Littlest Padre
by MagicInHerMadness
Summary: The Padres have a new tradition, and a new special guest to go with it. Bawson baby.
1. Chapter 1

Mike scans the clubhouse common area for Ginny, and frowns when he doesn't see her. Tommy's approach distracts him. The pitcher has sprouted his own beard, and expanded a few inches since Mike's retirement. Mike smirks. "You trying to take my look, Tommy?"

"Every team needs a worn out SOB who thinks he's still the hottest shit going." He looks startled, his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. "Sorry. Didn't mean to cuss in front of Rookie Jr."

Sixteen-month-old Matilda "Tillie" Baker-Lawson, looks up at the sound of her nickname, and grins at Tommy. He smiles back, squeezes her chubby cheeks. "You're pretty as new money. You know that? And lucky as H-E-L-L you didn't end up looking like your daddy."

She laughs at his attention, holding onto his calloused hand as she kicks her tiny white Converse against Mike's now slim stomach. He kisses the top of her head. "Tell Tommy you look just like your daddy. His eyes are just going bad cause he's old."

Tillie looks up at her daddy, the unquestionable love of her life, and grins, nodding at whatever he said. It's a habit he taught her, agreeing with him unquestioningly, mostly because he thinks it's funny to have conversations with her like she understands whatever he says. He adjusts the sling she's in. It was a gift from Evelyn, a black wrap sling meant for Ginny that found immediately useful in his new career as daddy extraordinaire. "Tell Tommy what we saw outside today, Jr."

"Balloon!" she coos in her tiny voice. She gets her soft-spoken nature from her mother, and though Mike loves how much she reminds him of Ginny, it's become a task to keep up with her in the house when she quietly toddles away. She's also shorter than he thought his and Ginny's baby would be, finding surprisingly small spaces to hide in around the house.

Tommy laughs, calls Blip over. "Tell Blip what you just told me, Rookie Jr."

Tillie grins, aware she's done something good, and because she loves Blip dearly just like Ginny. "Balloon!"

"Balloon? That's such a big word little girl!" he cheers and Tillie claps, clearly pleased with herself.

"Who said balloon?" Mike turns at the sound of her voice and grins. He thinks it's crazy that he still feels like he does, like it's the first time she's ever smiled at him, even after two years of marriage and a baby. Tillie lights up at the sight of her mother, both of their grins bordered by dimples. Ginny lifts her out of the sling and covers her face in kisses. "Did you say balloon?"

"Balloon," the baby laughs.

"That's right! Is Daddy gonna buy you a balloon?" Ginny runs her fingers through the baby's dark loose curls. The little girl is her carbon copy except her eyes. They're not blue-green like her father's, instead meeting her parents halfway with a golden hazel hue. And there's something inherently Mike-ish in her spirit. The baby fears nothing and no one. Ginny smirks at her husband, and Mike smiles at her wedding ring on a thin chain around her neck because she refuses to wear the three carat princess cut diamond on her hand while she plays. "He should have bought you a hat since he didn't do your hair."

Mike snorts. "You knew better than to leave me with that task, Gin. Me and Jr. like to live wild."

Ginny smirks harder, shaking her head. "One puff. That's all I asked for, old man."

Mike rolls his eyes. "Look I learned what _critter patterns_ are to match her clothes. What more do you want from me?"

Blip laughs. "I never thought I'd see the day Mike Lawson traded beer for baby formula."

Mike laughs as he takes the baby back to put her in the sling. Tillie laughs as she waves at her mother, playing peek-a-boo. "I'm a natural born father, Blip. Isn't that right, Jr.?"

Tillie looks up at her father and nods. Mike grins and kisses her forehead. "Who's the best daddy in the world?"

"Papa!" Tillie replies eagerly, kicking her little feet.

Ginny laughs as she leans over to kiss her baby girl. "But who do you love most?"

"Mama!" She reaches out her chubby arms for more kisses and Ginny covers her face.

"And who's gonna win today?" she asks.

"Padres win! Padres win!" It's the only complete sentence she knows, having learned it from mimicking an announcer on ESPN.

The clubhouse erupts in cheers, everyone gathering around to watch Tillie clap and kick her feet, still chanting "Padres win!" They all join in and the baby squeals with delight, making her parents laugh.

"Alright boys. Line up to rub the baby," Mike calls as he takes her out of the sling and hold her out.

It's tradition, started almost two years before when Ginny made her first post-baby appearance in the clubhouse. She was fuller in the face and hips, but still the lithe rookie who'd stormed the clubhouse and worked her way into everyone's heart. Even those who maybe didn't like her, respected her drive, remembering how she stubbornly showed up to the gym every day until she was five months along. No one would be pitcher to her catcher regardless to her putting on the gear, afraid they'd miss and Mike would kill them with his bare hands. They wouldn't let her bat in the cages, or pitch either. All she could do was walk on the treadmill, her practice t-shirt tight on her paunch, getting yelled at every time she reached a jog or went near the weights.

The sunny Saturday afternoon that she reappeared among them, a tiny brown bundle in her arms, wrapped in a little blue blanket, they had expected a boy (the news had only said she'd delivered a healthy baby). But wrapped in the blanket was a little girl in a tiny Padres jersey with her uncle Blip's number on it and a tiny blue bow headband holding her wispy curls. Mike stood beside her, grinning proudly.

He had wanted a boy, couldn't imagine what he'd do with a little girl even though Ginny reminded him every day that she was a living example that little girls didn't have to have Barbies and bows. Since they couldn't agree on a name, they decided to play it by ear, to see what they got in the delivery room and name it accordingly. And Mike thought he respected Ginny after watching her pitch five innings with a broken index finger that was now permanently crooked from her refusal of medical attention beyond taping it up, but watching her give birth left him in awe. She breathed her way through all 18 hours, never complaining beyond a flippant remark about the baby having Mike's head when she was crowning. And he'd prayed the whole time for a little him-a smarter, better, faster him. He was already planning for little league, could already see him holding a trophy, taking his team to state. When the doctor announced that they had a girl, all his dreams changed. He was instantly smitten, wrapped around her tiny finger and promising her the world before she'd opened her eyes fully. He was fully prepared to play Barbies and have tea parties and anything else. Little Matilda Grace, named after his mother, needed only ask and he'd high jump the moon.

Ginny was almost reduced to tears as they offered her the sincerest congratulations. Blip, having taken Mike's captain spot, lead them out onto the field, stopping to give the baby's head a rub. Everyone followed suit. The Padres beat the Giants 12-3 in the sixth and a tradition was born. Mike and Ginny, superstitious ballplayers themselves, never missed a Saturday. So far the Padres were undefeated with a good chance of making it to October.

Everyone takes their turn, running their hand over Tillie's curly head. The baby laughs, loving the attention, excitedly chirping "bye" as they leave. Ginny stays to be last and she gives the baby one last kiss. "You gonna cheer loud for mama?"

The baby nods, still grinning, and Ginny turns her eyes to her husband. "You gonna cheer loud for me too, old man?"

Mike shrugs. "Don't know yet. You know I always wanted to be a Yankee."

"Did you bring healthy snacks? She shit bricks last week when you gave her those nachos."

Mike nods but quirks his eyebrows at his wife. "Don't blame me for that. She got lactose intolerance from you, rookie."

Ginny laughs as she puts on her hat, pulls her ponytail out the back. Mike smirks. "I hate kissing you when you wear that thing. It's like kissing Tommy."

Ginny quirks her eyebrows. "How do you know what it's like to kiss Tommy?"

"There were no girls on the team when I started out. We had to make do." She laughs and Mike pulls her in for a kiss, sandwiching the baby between them. She laughs and tries to wrap her arms around her mother, thinking they're hugging. She gives the baby's head its traditional rub and Mike flicks the brim of her hat. "Blow 'em away, rookie."

She smiles. "You got it, captain."

His cheeks redden. He still loves when she calls him that. Tillie waves at her mother's back. "Bye Mama!"

Ginny stops in the doorway and waves at her two favorite people in the world. They're already in the stands, right above home plate like always, when she takes the mound. She smiles at them, takes off her hat to wave, and they're immediately on the jumbotron, cheering and waving back. Mike points at the baby's outfit and sticks his tongue out at his wife, and Ginny only realizes what he's done when he turns the baby around to show her the back of the white jersey. He's broken their stalemate on who's number Tillie would wear, slipped it by her under the baby's little pink jacket to shield her from the windy day. There, in tiny blue letters, are her name and number. He turns her back around and she waves her little hand, shouting "Padres win!" Ginny wonders how it is she can hear her tiny voice over the crowd's pandemonium, guessing it's one of those mom things.

Hours later it's the crowd shouting "Padres win!" Tillie has lost the battle with her afternoon nap, slumped in the sling, her hat pulled over her face to shield it from the sun. Ginny's pitched a no-hitter, her first of the season, and the first since she's been back, and to say it feels good is to say water is wet. She lets the team jostle her onto their shoulders, grins as they chant her name and carry her back to the clubhouse.

A no-hitter pales in comparison to the sight that's waiting for her. Mike is sitting on a folding chair, Tillie still sleeping in his arms. He looks down at the baby, expecting the raucous to wake her, but she sleeps on, truly her mother's child. He recalls a particular night toward the end of Ginny's pregnancy. She'd slept through a thunderstorm loud enough to rattle their apartment's windows, not even knowing it rained when she woke the next morning. He smiles at her as they let her down and she walks over to him. "A no-hitter against the Yankees? My rookie's officially a hot shot."

Ginny laughs, no longer shy about being giddy with him. "Can you believe it, babe?"

"Only cause it's you, Gin." Mike smiles. "Want us to wait here for you?"

Ginny shakes her head. "Nah. I can shower at home."

She takes off her cap and changes out of her cleats, bidding the team goodnight. Mike takes her hand as they left the clubhouse. Ginny gives it a squeeze as they walk to their waiting car. "So did I blow you away, Lawson?"

"Every day, Baker. Every day."


	2. Self-soothing

**A/N: So I have this headcanon that Mike is the most indulgent father on the planet. He can't deny his baby girl anything, even if it means getting up in the middle of the night. But Baker-Lawson #2 is on the way, so Tillie has to learn to self-soothe. The thing is, Ginny's not sure who's learning, the baby or Mike.**

Mike is still awake, side effect of having a heavily pregnant wife snoring beside him, when Tillie's cries drift through the baby monitor. He tries to slide out of bed, but Ginny's voice stops him. "Leave her alone. She has to learn."

They had agreed to teach Tillie to self-soothe, something she desperately needed to learn just a few months shy of her second birthday, and Mike was on board until bedtime rolled around and he wasn't allowed to rock her to sleep after her bath. The baby was a bit confused, but sleepy enough not to miss the ritual, promptly dozing off after Mike put her in her pajamas and gave her her last bottle.

Ginny isn't confident in her husband's willpower. (She had nearly succumbed to tears herself when Tillie was weaning.) It hurt her like hell too, hearing her baby crying, but they're expecting another baby in a matter of weeks and they need Tillie to grow up just a little.

She takes to self-soothing quickly, her cries becoming louder when neither of them comes. Mike looks at his wife, her belly bobbing rhythmically as she sleeps. "Gin, listen to that. Something's wrong with her."

"You've spoiled her rotten," Ginny murmurs sleepily, rolling onto her side. Tillie's cries go up another octave and she almost gets out of bed, but if she breaks, they'll never accomplish anything. After a few minutes, the volume lowers, replaced by fading whimpers. "See? She's learning to calm herself down."

"Or she's quietly suffocating because her blanket's covering her face."

"She can post selfies. I doubt a blanket got the best of her," Ginny replies.

He looks over her shoulder at the baby monitor's display. Tillie is lying in her crib, seemingly asleep again. An hour passes before Tillie wakes up again. She wails "Mama" and Mike smirks at the speed with which his wife heaves her belly out of bed and waddles to the nursery. He turns over, looks at the monitor's screen, watches Ginny carry the baby around, bouncing her gently. "Did you have a bad dream? Hmm?"

"Want Papa." Mike's already out of bed, headed for the nursery.

Ginny raises her eyebrows at his speed, and at the way Tillie nearly jumps from her arms to get to him. "What's the matter, Jr.?"

The baby holds up her bare left foot. "You lost your sock? Papa'll find it for you."

"But you didn't spoil her rotten?" Ginny teases as she waddles to Tillie's ladybug bathroom.

"Her foot's cold." He finds the sock under her crib and puts it back on her foot, smiling at his baby girl in her yellow polka dot onesie. "Ready to go back to bed?"

"Wan' play," she replies.

Mike smiles, thinking they might if Ginny were out of town, but he shakes his head. "Not play, Jr. It's time for bed. We gotta go back to sleep, okay?"

Tillie nods. "Okay, Papa."

Ginny watches from the doorway as Mike walks her around the room, bouncing her gently. She smiles as he sings to her, thinking she's never seen Mike Lawson so whipped. "God gave me you for the ups and downs/ God gave me you for the days of doubt/ And for when I think I've lost my way/ There are no words here to left to say it's true/ God gave me you..."

Tillie's eyes, now as brown as her mother's, fall closed. Mike sings a few more lines, waiting until she's completley out before he puts her back in the crib and tucks her Disney princess blanket around her. Ginny bumps him with her belly to pull himaway from the crib and they go back to bed.

She smirks at the rhythmic kicking in her belly, then turns to her husband. "Now you woke the other one up."

Isaac Michael Baker-Lawson, seven weeks away from his debut, was more active than Tillie had ever been. Ginny cherishes the few hours he's asleep, or at least immobile. Mike laughs, leans over to her belly. "It's bedtime for you, Jr."

Ginny wrinkles her nose at him. "You can't call them both Jr."

"I don't wanna call him Isaac. Forgive me."

Since Mike named Tillie, it was only fair that Ginny got to name the second baby. She chose Isaac, Hebrew for "he laughs" to commemorate Mike's reaction to finding out they having another baby. She shakes her head at her husband. "Well we're not gonna call him Mike."

She refuses to call him Mike. Not because she hates the name, but because Mike named their dog, a corgi prone to snoring, Mike Jr., and she refuses to name their baby after a dog. Mike laughs. "It's not gonna confuse the dog, Gin."

"It might. Plus I don't want my baby to be named after a dog."

"Our baby will be named after a hall of famer, rookie."

Ginny yawns, snuggles closer to him. Mike pushes her head away. "Self-soothe. Go to bed by yourself."

Ginny lookes up at him and pouts. "That's mean. You cuddled Jr."

Mike can't help smiling. "Don't make the pouty face, Gin. I hate the pouty face."

Ginny keeps it up, struggling not to smile, and Mike finally pulls her to him. He kisses her forehead, rubs her belly. Ginny kisses his chin, nuzzles his neatly trimmed hair. "I love you, old man."

He pokes her stomach, laughs at the kick that responds. "There's your old man."

 **A/N: Don't forget to review! And I'm currently taking prompts!**


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